


Seasoning

by Kazemari (MariDark)



Category: Hannibal (TV), InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Multi, Slice of Life, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8705635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariDark/pseuds/Kazemari
Summary: Will Graham has his light in the dark. But he is not the only killer in town who wishes for one. (Or Will wants Kagome. Hannibal wants them both. Kagome is just happy to meet such exotic people.)





	1. First Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> For those interested, this story is mainly published on my Tumblr account. Search for Tumblr account, kazemari, and put the hashtag seasoning fanfiction. It should appear.

(He first met her on Christmas’ Eve.)

It’s cold and he is walking out of a late day of work, Will passes by some of his colleagues - they laugh.

He knows why. He _understands_ why.

Will Graham ignores them and just keeps walking. (It’s easier.)

The wind is chilly, it brings delicate snowflakes with it, soaking his hair and clothes. He takes a deep breath, watches the white wisp that comes out of his mouth - like smoke, he thinks numbly - bringing images of cigarettes, diseases and death.

Strange - almost anything that he lay his eyes on brings death to his mind.

He enters his car and drives away.

(Crumbled in his jacket’s pocket is his retirement letter.)

* * *

He’s almost out of Quantico, numbly watching the road, he’s driving only by instinct and his mind is overwhelmed with a macabre mix of guilt and relief, when his car stops.

Blinking out of his stupor, he stares confusingly at the panel of his slowly and painfully dying car. It stops at the side road of an seasonal ice skating rink on the road side (a lake that was a delight to the locals’ children when the winter came by). Will tries to turn on the car, the motor roars but it does not turns on. Checking the panel again, he sees the lack of gasoline and with a grunt let his head fall on the steering wheel.

Closing his eyes in phantom pain, he punches the wheel.

Will Graham wants to cry.

He always wants to cry.

Why him? Why can’t he be a normal, intelligent, unbroken man? Why does he have to be haunted by his own mind, his own job?

He’s a failure.

Will just wants to go _home_. He needs to prepare himself for his future classes. Will is a teacher now.

He is no agent.

(He can not be.)

“Sis is so awesome!”

Blinking, Will turns wary eyes to the side road where the skating rink is. He can see a bunch of kids there - all close to each other gazing at a lone female, years older than them, beautifully skating. He gulps before looking at the road again, nodding to himself he gets his jacket and cap before getting out of the car. He pushes his hands into his winter jacket’s pocket, and walks down the short hill to the the edge of the skating rink, the is wild life around it - but the place is close enough to the city to have stone pathways and benches. The benches are all occupied by mothers and nannies and old people.

Will looks at the girl - woman actually - dancing on the ice.

She’s good. Not perfect, nor professional. She spins and dances and laughs. She even sings, holding hands with one passing kid and skating with them.

She glows.

Her hair is a beautiful thing under the the light of the late noon. It’s in a high ponytail, and yet it goes down her back in black waves, almost touching her hips. She’s of Asian ancestry, her body is lean and thin - but he thinks there is some European in her - her hips are too wide and bosom bigger than a normal Asian woman. Her legs are long and powerful and there is a strange grace and strength in her arms. When her face turns toward him, he sees blue-gray eyes that are definitely not Asian.

But as he watches the exotic woman play with the children, it’s not her physical appearance that captures his attention.

At the risk of sounding cheesy - Will is enchanted with her soul.

The woman seems to be in complete bliss. She laughs and plays with young children - ignoring the looks of the adults around her.

She seems free.

* * *

Will Graham is an empath.

Not in a supernatural way - no.

He has no superpowers in which he can feel what others feel, or make others feel whatever he wants. No.

He can make himself understand what others feel.

All his life, people asked him to understand the bad. The ones that they could not understand. They wanted him to do what they couldn’t.

They always forget what _it_ could do to _him_.

Will doesn’t like to enter the mind of a killer. Will is sick of seeing himself kill.

Will always understand people.

People don’t always (mostly never) understand Will.

But Will thinks he found someone he likes to understand. Because when Will closes his eyes and puts himself in _her_ place - he feels at peace.

(He comes back to the ice rink every day until the spring comes and the ice melts.)

(Will thinks that he has found his muse.)

* * *

It’s one week after the ice rink melts away and Will is hesitant to approach his little piece of heaven.

If he closes his eyes he can still hear the laughing sound of children, the sound of the skates’ blades sliding through the ice. The sound of one of his dogs, or even all four of them, happily playing with curious children as he sits on one of the benches and watches the woman dance and laugh and play and simply _be_.

He sort of misses it.

One day, it’s almost the end of January (this winter was a short one), there is obviously no ice or snow, but he is heading home after an stressful day of teaching wannabes-agents. The park is no longer white, it is bursting with wide life and greenery. The air is fresh, still a little bit chilling, and the children are no longer skating, but playing with each other and running around the now-unfrozen lake.

Will stares at the lake and closes his eyes.

He lets the pendulum swing and all around him, it’s winter again.

This time he is not entering someone else’s mind. He is simply using his ‘imagination’.

But he needs not to be into someone else’s mind. He is not trying to understand someone. He wants to find his own peace of mind.

And so he watches her dance again.

“You’re back.” Will blinks and the rink is now a lake. There is no snow around him, nor there is beautiful laughs and calming happiness. Will is back to the real world, and the person who is talking to him is the one he had found solace through almost two whole months.

They never spoke to one another, but he is acutely aware of her presence, her voice. It is strange to hear her without the breathless, laughing quality he was used to. She was always loud and laughing when playing with the children - now she’s quiet and curious. Her breath is even and her cheeks are red.

_(She’s curious and she knows about him. She does not find him disturbing - she is probably used to this strange behavior. From what and who, he does not know.)_

“I’m sorry.” He gulps and looks at the rim of his glasses, then at her chin and then at his shoes. “I didn’t mean to - to stare. I’m - It’s not…” Taking a deep breath in, he frowns in pain at his awkwardness. “Sorry.”

She chuckles, he looks up, she turns her head away from him.

_(She is laughing at his wording, not at him. She does not laugh in malice. She simply finds him amusing.)_

“You’re cute.”

Will frowns and looks at her face, quickly focusing back at her forehead as she turns back at him and nods hesitantly. 

“Thank…you?”

He turns to his shoes again, looking at her over the rim of his glasses. She is smiling softly at him - he gulps down, feeling the weight of something in his chest. She offers her hand to him.

_(Calloused and slim, delicate and strong. She’s relaxed - she was hoping for this encounter.)_

Will can feel his sweaty hands, but when he clasps and shakes hers in return he knows she won’t mind.

“I’m Kagome Higurashi. And you, mister?”

_(She was hoping for him. What a strange woman.)_

“Will…Graham. I’m Will Graham.” He looks at her bright eyes. “Do you…do you like dogs?”


	2. Second Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years before meeting Will Graham, Kagome Higurashi had a brief encounter with one Hannibal Lecter.

(He met her when he ran from his past to start anew.)

The air is warm and the airplane is crowded. The seat next to himself is empty - he prefers that it stayed that way. He fiddles with his drawing notebook, a new and empty one, his hands are itching for something.

It could be a pencil, it could be a scalpel. It could be both - he learned that the fine blade of the medical tool made the sharpest pencil tip.

Maybe that isn’t the reason though. Maybe it’s a thirst for cooking - it has been a long time since he stepped into a good kitchen. He would certainly search for a suitable home of his own when arriving on American soil, maybe a house big enough for him to hold his own office. Perhaps not his office - it would be better to keep his patients away from his hobbies.

Suddenly his seat is pushed forward, the loud voice of the woman on the phone behind him carries out throughout the airplane. He can hear her loud steps as she gets up from her seat in search for a stewardess, her french perfume mixed with the foul scent of cigarette falling over him as her angry shouts made his muscles clench with murderous rage.

(Indeed, he would love to have something fresh to cook.)

The hideous woman was thin and tall, her legs were long under her fashionable monochromatic dress. Her cheeks were thin and her lips full.

Not enough meat, but he could do with it. Not the lungs - they were infested. Maybe not the heart, and he would have to check her liver and kidneys. Her thighs could too - maybe her brain if he had luck.

“Excuse me sir?”

He blinks once before turning to the short woman standing beside him. Short and tiny, strong arms, Asian face and blue eyes, long black hair. Her scent is exquisite - it’s sweet and charming, not overly diabetic and very clean. She’s the purest adult to ever come close to him - he can smell it.

“Yes miss?” His smile is charming, thin lips barely showing his teeth and his face is angled just so that she does not see the tension in his neck from the rage still cursing trough his body - he can still hear the shrill french from the rude woman who would sit behind him for the entirety of his flight.

The woman points a dainty finger to the seat by the window next to him. Her hand is delicate and strong, he can see tiny scars and calluses along with clean fingernails.

“This seat is mine sir.”

“Oh,” He pulled his long legs closer to himself, giving passage for the tiny woman. “Please then, take your seat.”

“Thank you.” Nodding, she’s quick to put her small duffel bag in the compartment above them and siting beside him. By now, his focus has changed from the foul woman to the tiny thing siting beside him.

He offers his hand.

“I am Hannibal Lecter, your companion for the next hours.” He tilts his head at her warm smile, her hand is terribly small in his. “Where are you headed to?”

“A pleasure Mister Lecter. I’m heading towards London, actually.” 

“Well, then we will part there. I’m heading for Baltimore in the United States. I must ask, you choose London for a vacation?” She chuckles.

“You could say so. More of a…reconnaissance? I’ve been traveling for a long time, Mister Lecter, and London is nothing more than the next stop.”

“Why not take the train, then?” Her smile is contagious.

“That’s for me to know and you to guess.”

She smiles at him and turns toward the window, blue-gray eyes shine with wisdom he never saw.

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

She looks back at him with wise, old eyes.

“I’m Kagome Higurashi.”

(Yet another Japanese woman.)

* * *

“Your Japanese is awfully good, Lecter-san!”

“It certainly came handy right now.” They are walking out of the airplane, soon parting ways, he can see the warning plate on the wall a few feet in front of them, its bold letters and arrow pointing towards the connection flights area. “I hope I wasn’t  boring company.”

“You’re great company, Lecter-san.” She stops walking and he stops by her side, looking down at her with curious eyes. She’s truly tiny, not even reaching his chin.

“You as well, Higurashi-san.” He nods at her, as per her custom.

“Oh please, Lecter-san! Call me Kagome! Higurashi-san is my mother - may she rest in piece.”Her eyes turn sad for a moment, nostalgia and longing taking her to her past.

“Of course, Kagome-san. Pardon me for bringing such sad memories.” She shakes her head, a wistful smile on her lips.

“They are not sad. Every moment I’ve passed with my family is remembered with great love.” She looks at him with almost knowing eyes that make his hands clench and his jaw snap shut. “I’ve learned that with time I can look beyond the sorrow.”

They stand there, in a corridor swarmed by people, with eyes never straying from each other.

Her smile is warm, and her eyes have a strange shine to them - like they have a light of their own that can look beyond any darkness in him.

“We will see each other again, Lecter-san.”

“What makes you say that?” He doesn’t know why they are whispering, he feels like a cornered animal. He does not like the feeling.

(He is not cornered. He _hunts_.)

“I have a strange affinity to destiny.” She winks at him before opening her bag and taking out a pen. She points at his hand. “Can I?”

“I’m not the kind of man who lets a woman he barely knows write her number on my hand.”

(Her smile is both infuriating and perfect.)

“And how do you know it’s my number I will write down on your hand?” He only lifts an eyebrow in response. She throws back her head and laughs beautifully and loudly. “Ok, I get it.” She shakes her head, fondness in her eyes, as if she knows him forever and is simply amused by his fisted hands and clenched jaw.

“You’re awfully knowing.”

“I’ve learned, in my twenty-six years of life, that I tend to know too much in too little time.” She smirks up at him, hands searching for something inside her bag. “People tend not to like it.”

“I will have to agree with the people this time.”

She smiles at him and hands him a crumbled card.

“Once I tried to print cards to give people my phone more efficiently. Traveling made me very sociable.” She chuckles. “It didn’t work out, I kept forgetting them in hotel after hotel.” She leans forward as if saying a secret. “You’re lucky, Lecter-san. You got the last one.”

He smiles at her, still confused with his own feelings toward the woman. He simply couldn’t tell if he wanted to twist her neck or speak with her for a longer period of time.

She’s very interesting.

(Strong hands, strong legs, sociable, too wise, too calm, too happy, too perfect.)

“Maybe it’s the destiny you speak of, Kagome-san.”

Her eyes twinkle, and he is both fascinated and infuriated.

“Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Hannibal’s meeting with Kagome!!! I wanted them to know each other before meeting one another, cause afterwards it would be a bit too chaotic to introduce dear Kags. But, anyways, I picture this being Hannibal’s moving to the States.
> 
> Hannibal Lecter is running, or better yet, retreating from his past (or simply he had the police on him, or maybe something else. We will figure it out.). So, moving from France to the States is his way to do it. I think that, Will’s first meeting with Kagome was two to three years before the first season of the series. Hannibal’s maybe four to five years? I’m still unsure about it. I’m still studying the timeline that I want.
> 
> And yes, Kagome will be pretty older than normal when the first season begins. But I couldn’t have a teenager to have the needed interactions I wanted with those two intellectuals. Beyond that, for this story I have thought pretty heavily on Kagome’s past, and she needed time, years, to overcome everything.


	3. Third Chapter

_Romantic love is biochemically indistinguishable from having a severe obsessive-compulsive disorder._

* * *

He’s nervous.

(Really nervous.)

But, well, when was it that Will Graham wasn’t nervous or any other kind of synonym of it? There was always something to think about, to analyze, to decipher and discover.

And it was always worst when he was in public. That was the main reason for him to avoid public, crowded, sociable places like the one he was currently in.

He hated exposition to people.

“Don’t be so tense.” A low, teasing voice whisper in his ear, the warm body of the female leaned over his back as he sat on the chair in the little coffee shop. His body and mind are tense for what seems to be a millisecond, everything in ready to lash out like a wounded dog, before he recognizes the person.

_(She knows how he could react to such an approach. She trusts him to recognize her. She acknowledges his ability - some call it disability, not her though, for her it is a gift. She is happy and anxious.)_

His snort is half amused, half desperate.

“Don’t do that to a FBI agent, Kagome.”

Her lips form a gentle smile as she sits on the chair in front of him. Their little table is by the grand window, the coffee shop has two entrances and their table is in between them. The place is full and loud, warm and strangely peaceful - it reminds him of her.

“I thought you weren’t allowed on the field, dear Will.”

_(She does not mean to hurt him. It’s nothing more than a fact. She knows he does not like the fact he has been denied field work - even though he understands the reason why.)_

“That’s what I thought too.”

She tilts her head, her hair spills down her shoulder. It’s on a side braid - it’s a little bit messy and chaotic and he loves every little disjoined strand of black hair.

“I’ve know you for years now, Will. They ask for your opinion, for your guidance. But they want you out of the front lines.”

_(She says front lines as if it’s war front.)_

“Well…” He gulps down, clenches his left hand _(sweaty and slightly trembling)_ and hesitantly grasps her right dainty hand resting on top of the small circular table between them. “I had an interesting meeting with a somewhat unpleasant man and-” _Deep breath, look at her forehead_ “I’m now special agent Graham, at least I will be in a few minutes. Just had to meet you for our lunch.” He smiles tentatively - almost timidly - looking at the space in between her eyebrows.

“And is that something that you want?”

The question is almost like thunder in his head. It brings him to a stop, to a question mark that he had been avoiding. He knows what field work will bring to his mind - it can consume him.

But then he remembers the soft body that laid by his side every morning, the feeling of missing her when she goes on her short adventurous trips and the feeling of her returning home, of small hands on his curly hair while sitting on their porch, of laughs and kisses and walking the dogs out on a chilly morning.

His own blue-green eyes stare sharply into her blue-gray ones.

_(Intimacy.)_

* * *

“How are you?”

_“I’m fine, thank you for asking! It’s a shame you had to go so soon - just after I arrived from my trip also - but I’m glad we could lunch together before you had to go out - right I’m just lazing with the dogs on the rug.”  
_

Will almost sighs in relief - both for the pack and for the sound of her voice.

_“And how is your trip? Any clues?”  
_

He feels his lips stretch awkwardly - a smile.

“I can’t tell you.” He smirks. “It’s confidential information, miss Higurashi.”

She laughs.

_(He remembers of the end of a distant winter, of shy glances and happy laughs. Of confessions and pleas - he wanted her to stay.)_

He listens to her laugh, slightly altered by the mobile’s speaker, but still all together genuine.

_“Very well then, special agent. Let’s see…can you tell me anything that’s not confidential?”  
_

Her voice is teasing, he can hear the dogs barking and playing on the background and she shushes one of them away.

He smiles softly as he thinks of home.

“I can say that I miss you. And…” He looks back at Elise Nichols’ house, swarmed by officers and agents, his mind flashes back to the girl’s dead body tucked on her own bed, her pale face, and her sickness and _his_ apology because she wasn’t supposed to be dead she was sick he shouldn’t have-

_“Will?”  
_

Kagome’s voice echoes in his head, bringing him out of the abyss’ edge.

_“Will.”_ Her voice is gentle, knowing - he can see her smile, her wise eyes glancing at him knowingly. _“You were saying?”  
_

“I…” He sighs, closes his eyes and turns away from Elise’s home. “I’ll go home now, ok? Sorry, I’ll try not to wake you up, I know you’re probably tired from your job searching and I don’t want to disturb you…”

_“Take a deep breath Will.”_ He does. _“Now, I’m about to do something cheesy.”_ His smile is fragile at her teasing voice. _“Look at the sky.”_ He does. _“I’m looking at it now ok? And you know what? We’re not so apart as not be under the same sky. You come home safely, and I’ll wait for you.”_ His face is blank as he gazes at the night sky.

“Ok.”He feels empty and too full - she’s everything he wants, but she doesn’t deserve someone as broken as him. ”I…I…”

_“I know, Will.”_ He’s _her_ Will - he is hers and he has never been more proud of something so possessive. He likes it, to be hers - because if he is hers, it means she is his, right?

“I’ll be there soon, Kagome.” Her name is almost difficult to roll out of his tongue - the foreign language is something is not used to - but he loves to say her name. “Don’t wait up for me ok?”

_“Make me.”_

“I’ll make you regret such words.” Her laugh is like home.

_(She stayed.)_

* * *

“Of course that when you come back home after your first trip as the Special Agent Will Graham,” He can hear the capitals letters, he struggles with a smirk. “You come back with another pup.”

“This is hardly a pup.” He looks up from the dirty dog he is scrubbing clean to see her by the door, wearing only one of his white shirts and white socks on her small feet, hair in a giant messy bun on the very top of her head and holding two cups - one with coffee for him, another with her traditional green tea.

_(He’d rather be ravishing her on their bed. She too, he can tell.)_

Kagome sashays to one of the chairs on their porch, bringing it closer to him.

“It is our pup now, Will-kun.” He hates her languages’ honorifics, they do not agree with his name. “Him, her?”

“Him. What should we name him?”

She puts his coffee on the of the large cage with graciousness he could never hope to have.

“What do you think?”

Will looks back to the large dog, his eyes connecting with the canine’s own dark orbs with ease he can not do with his fellow humans.

“What about Winston?” She snots and and gags on her tea, he looks back at her to find tea going out of her nose as she laughs. “What? What is wrong with Winston?”

“Your name sense is strange.”

“No, it’s normal. You named your cat ‘Buyo’.”

“Oi! There is nothing wrong with Buyo!”

_(Home.)_

* * *

“Wake up, Will.”

With a gasp, Will sits up on the bed. His whole body is sweating, his hair is plastered to his head in a curly wet mess. He is panting, his pupils are blow wide.

Elise Nichols body was laying by his side on the bed.

Kagome laid by his side on the bed.

_(Did he hurt Kagome? Nononononononononono-)_

A hand on his head takes him out of his wild imagination. The small callouses _(kyudo practice)_ on her dainty, small hand are reality, and he almost feel like sobbing with relief.

“I’m here.” She turns his head toward her. Her face is illuminated by the moon, blue-gray eyes almost silver with the moonlight, and her skin glows ethereally.

_(She has her kind of special. Something she can’t tel to him or to world. She wants to keep it hidden. Will remembers glimpses of pink light, of bruises that heal too quickly, of animals too peaceful around her, of greenery that grows too fast and too good. But he tucks it away in his mind, because she is with him and he with her and they **trust** one another in a way Will is so enamored with.)  
_

“T-the bed.” He is shaking, his jaw is clenched, his arms surround her in a vice grip, hands fisting on her long hair, he brings her body flush to his and burrows his face on her neck. “It’s wet. It’ll ge-t c-old.”

“Don’t worry. I’m here to warm you up.”

* * *

Will meets Jack Crawford inside of one of the bathrooms of the Academy. More like the man himself finds him _(like a fucking Hellhound)_ and demands his presence on the scene.

Crawford speaks of the utility of his brain, and Will knows he wants to save people. He wants to save them.

That’s why he will help them, he wants to help them. It’s what he wants. _(Was it?)_

He will help.

_(Even if they look at him as if he is crazy.)_

But something is not right. Something is amiss. Something doesn’t match.

_(Who is this psychopath? Why is it that Will doesn’t **see**?)_

* * *

“He’s, um he’s eating them.”

There is a tense moment when they all stare at the corpse. Will feels detached and, at the same time, too connected.

A cannibal.

One who eats their own species.

Will wonders if he feeds others too.

* * *

“Do you have trouble with taste?”

An empath.

How curious.

Could Will Graham relate to him?

Hannibal watches the younger man trough his eyelashes, and he can see the way Will Graham is clearly uncomfortable with his presence - no. After a quick assessment, Hannibal can tell that the man is simply uncomfortable with living beings, more specifically humans.

“My thoughts are often not tasty” There is bitterness in Will’s words. Nightmares and maybe even hallucinations, most likely.

“Nor mine. No effective barriers.”

“I build forts.” Useless forts, Hannibal can stop himself from thinking. He himself had a much more _healthy_ way to use such gifts.

“Associations come quickly.”

“So do forts.” To bottle everything up until all exploded into a beautiful supernova.

(Hannibal would love to witness Will Graham fall apart.)

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?”

“Eyes are distracting you see too much, you don’t see enough. And-And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking, um, ‘Oh, those whites are really white’, or, ‘He must have hepatitis’, or, ‘Oh, is that a burst vein?’ So, yeah, I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.” Hannibal smile humorlessly, and he sees the way Will fidget away from him and looks at the black man on the other side of the table. “Jack?”

“Yes?” Interesting how Will tries to ignore him, to pretend he doesn’t understand what Hannibal is trying to do.

Hannibal won’t let him go so easily.

“I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you _love_.” He can see the way the other freezes at the word love.

Something, someone. It’s unmistakeable the way his eyes glaze over with acute softness and then turn to sharp confusion that quickly ascends into controlled rage  - there is no doubt in Hannibal’s mind that the man loves something. Something which he would protect at any costs.

“Whose profile are you working on?”

(It’s in the way his hands curl into tight fists, how he gulps down and turns his suddenly too paranoid eyes quickly only to look sharply at his superior.)

“Whose profile is he working on?”

“I’m sorry, Will. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off.” Hannibal takes a sip from his cup, sure that he has found what he searched for.

(Weakness.)

“Please, don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.” He says that looking at agent Crawford, but there is no doubt that Will is speaking to Hannibal.

“Will.” Jack is looking warningly at the teacher, eyes searching.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture on psychoanalyzing, and after that,” He gets up and stops by the door, jaw clenched and eyes furious as they stare at Jack’s form. “I will speak with someone that I knowI can trust, not some random stranger you think can make me better, Jack.”

Silence reigns in the room as they watch the man leave the room.

Hannibal is left intrigued, Jack is just exasperated.

“Someone?” He looks at the black man with a raised eyebrow.

“His, partner. Girlfriend actually.” The man sighs and shakes his head. “An immigrant woman, Japanese I think. Never met her, but rumors fly fast around here.”

“She is good to him?”

“That’s what the rumors say.” He chuckles mirthlessly. “That she ‘tamed the beast’.”

Hannibal tilts his head, looking at the other man with empty eyes masked with charisma.

“But even then, you need someone who will not get involved with the sensible information Will needs to discuss, to take the burden out of his shoulders.”

Hannibal’s answer is another mirthless smile.

“Maybe we shouldn’t poke him like that, Doctor. Perhaps a less direct approach.” Hannibal takes the change of subject smoothly.

“What he has is pure empathy. He can assume your point of view, or mine, and maybe some other points of view that scare him. It’s an uncomfortable gift, Jack.”

“Hum.”

“Perception’s a tool that’s pointed on both ends. This cannibal you have him getting to know - I think I can help good Will see his face.”

(He will make Will _see_.)

* * *

She sleeps in his embrace, no clothes, no barriers.

They’re alone in their home, the pack is sleeping and it’s on the middle of the night. He can’t sleep, so he sits on the bed and watches her sleep.

_(Relaxed, nude, beautiful.)_

She’s turned toward him, skin glowing with healthiness, hair spilled around her - so long that it is on his own pillow. He loves to be surrounded by it when she leans over him, sat on his lap and hair creating a curtain protecting them from the world.

He knows it’s not healthy. It’s not healthy how much he is attached to her.

_(He can’t find himself to care.)_

Will’s cellphone chimes, he turns away from her, reluctantly, and picks up the phone. His lips purse, displeased with the name on the display.

“Jack…” His hand is sweaty as he puts it on top of his eyes. “What do you want?”

_“We have another girl. Hibbing, Minnesota. Pack your bag, I’ll come and get you.”  
_

Jack hangs up, leaving an exasperated Will looking out of the window, a frown marring his face. With a heavy sigh, he let his head fall, his shoulders draw in and his hair fall over his eyes.

Strong, thin arms slowly caress his back, delicate hands drawing lines over his shoulders to his chest, pulling him back to a female body that molds flush to his back. Her heavy bosom is close to his neck and her dark hair falls heavily around them as she lays her face on the crown of his head.

“Be careful.”

“For you, anything.”

* * *

_“The cannibal who killed Elise Nichols had a place to do it and no interest in in field kabuki. So, he has a house, or two, or a-a cabin something with an antler room. He has a daughter. The same age as the other girls. Same-same hair colour, same eye colour, same height, same weight. She’s an only child. She’s leaving home. He can’t stand the thought of losing her. She’s his golden ticket.”  
_

What about the copycat, they ask him.

_“You know, an intelligent psychopath, particularly a sadist, is very hard to catch. There’s no traceable motive, there’ll be no patterns. He may never kill this way again. Have Dr. Lecter draw up a psychological profile. You seemed very impressed with his opinion.”_

* * *

“Will, they’re calling him the Minnesota Shrike. And the pictures on the internet tell me that you’re gonna have some rough nights. Are you sure you don’t want me to be there with you?”

He’s on a little motel by the road on Duluth, sitting on his hard, filthy bed, dressed only in a towel _(it has his name, ‘Will’, sewed into it. Kagome’s handiwork)_ and trying to reassure his lover of his wellness.

“No, stay home and enjoy the few days you’ll have to yourself until you start you new job. I’ll be fine.”

“I can be there in a few hours.”

“No, Kagome.” He smiles at her worry. “It’ll not be easy, but I can survive for a few days.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” She sighs, worry laced with her very soul. He’s so tuned with her, he can know exactly what she feels or thinks, with absolutely no effort. “I don’t want you to be scared.”

He focus on her voice and looks back at his wallet, open on top of the night stand to show an photography of the very woman he is talking with on the phone.

“I know.”

* * *

“How do you see me?”

Hannibal stares at the younger man, munching on the sausage flesh of Cassie Boyle, along with some eggs and greens, seeing something that the teacher preferred to ignore.

(But he would bring it out of him.)

“The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.” The confusion on Will’s face is delightful. “Finish your breakfast.”

* * *

“You have a girlfriend.”

Hannibal looks at him by the corner of his eyes, taking in everything the other lets out. The man is frowning at the that will take them to Hobbs’ home, where Hannibal has no doubt his fellow cannibal is preparing himself to greet them.

Will is not pleased with the question, Hannibal can see. Now, why would he be displeased?

“You don’t like her?”

“What?!” The car takes a sudden curve, almost hits one passing car before coming to its own tracks. Through it all, Hannibal does not even blink. “No! I mean yes! Of course I like her.” The man shakes his head confusedly, murmuring to himself. “Why would someone _not_ like Kagome?”

The name is not unfamiliar to him.

“Kagome?”

Will looks at him and then turns back to the road.

“Yeah. Kagome Higurashi.”

“Hum.”

Interesting.

* * *

The pendulum swings.

…

“See?”

…

The blood spills.

…

“See?!”

…

Will wishes he couldn’t _see_.

* * *

When Hannibal wakes up, Will Graham is sitting on the sofa of Abigail Hobbs’ hospital room.

(Responsibility.)

Slowly, he gets up from the armchair he was sleeping on, shakes his hand out of the girl’s. He puts on his blazer and and walks toward the sleeping figure of the FBI teacher.

His sleep is turbulent, eyes looking unseeing under his eyelids. His whole body is sweating and shaking.

One of Hannibal’s hands slowly reaches down, petting one of the dark curly strands of hair on Will’s head.

The room’s door is open, and he turns around to see a strangely familiar face.

Asian, blue-gray eyes, strong body, lean, small, long black hair.

_(We will see each other again, Lecter-san.)_

He smiles.

“What a coincidence, Kagome-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your thoughts on Will and Kagome's relationship? How do you guys expect to Kagome and Hannibal's own relationship go?
> 
> See ya next year!
> 
> ~Mari


End file.
